Officially A Counsulting Detective
by Penmanboat
Summary: The events that occurred when Sherlock met Lestrade.


Title: Officially A Consulting Detective

Author: Penmanboat

Rating: T

Fandom: Sherlock BBC

Disclaimer: Do I look like Moffat/Gatiss/Doyle?

_Officially A Consulting Detective_

"Can you pass the butter?" A woman asked the man at the other end of the shining oak table. He passed the small dish that held the butter to his wife. A small girl dressed in a red and green dress made of a velvety material bounced up and down in her seat. She had a grin plastered on her innocent face as her blonde hair bobbed. The light above their heads shone down on them. It gave the room a cheery and homey feel. The family looked like a kind of family used in commercials. Perfect.

A beeping was heard from the other room. The man stepped up to get the turkey from the oven when-.

Gregory Lestrade woke to his small and grey flat. His alarm rang on his nightstand. His flat was cloaked in a greyscale of the colors of the early English air.

He slammed his fist on the button to turn the alarm off and slowly rolled out of bed. _It's going to be a long day_ he thought as he wiped the sleep from his eyes.

Donovan was sitting at her desk still trying to wake to the early morning. 'Whoever had the idea of getting up the early needs to be ended." She sipped her coffee menacingly, while her computer booted typed in her password, and a moment later a rather loud banging noise was heard throughout Scotland Yard as she slammed her fist onto the desk, when the message that she had mistyped the password popped up.

"Breaking the desk won't help, Donovan," Lestrade said as he strode into the cove of desks. He sat down at the desk opposite of hers. There was no noise emanating from the cluster of desks for a little over an hour; Anderson could be heard mumbling in his sleep from over at his desk until Donovan threw a ball of paper at him. He woke with a start and glared at her for waking him from his nice hour of sleep.

Then, as a gift from above, Lestrade's phone rang. He hung it up after receiving the team's orders, and grabbing his coat from the back of the chair.

"Finally," sighed Donovan as she followed Lestrade out the door.

It was a homicide. Lestrade had been told a man had been in his flat, lying on the floor. Dead. The man had lived there for two years while he attended a nearby university. They were the first to arrive after the police had left. His team prepared homebase on the floor below. Lestrade went up to check the body. He opened the door and saw two men on he lying on the floor staring at the ceiling.

"I thought there was only one body," Lestrade mumbled.

"That's because I'm not dead," a voice said from the darker haired man.

"You know this is crime scene?" Lestrade stated with a deadpanned expression crossing his face. _Who is this? _he thought. _He's not on my team that's for sure. _

"I am aware."

"Well, leave!" It was far too early for this nonsense.

"You'll need my help."

"No. I won't. I will, however, charge with you with a felony for tampering with a crime scene," Lestrade looked to his waist for his baton. "Lucky for you, I left my baton at home."

The man got up; towering over Lestrade, "This man was unbelievably high on illegal substances. His brother, probably a twin, murdered him for money to stay in college. That, I promise you, is the truth." He walked towards the window, opened it, and put his foot on the ledge. Before he jumped, Lestrade called to him, "Wait! Who are you and how did you know all that?" Lestrade, against his better judgement, had a warm feeling in his stomach that told him to believe the man.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes," and he jumped to the street below.

"We still don't know who killed him, Detective."

_This is going to make me look crazy for saying this. _Lestrade thought.

"Does he by chance have a," he paused and sighed, "have a twin brother?"

Donovan looked at Lestrade with a confused look on her face before checking her file. She searched through the mass of papers before pulling her head up and asking,"How did you know that?"

"Do me favor and pull him for questioning," Lestrade told her as he walked towards his desk.

"On what charges?" Donovan asked flabbergasted.

"Suspicion of murder."

_How in the world did that man do it?_

The ringing of the phone woke him from his trance.

"Detective?"

"Yes?"

"Johnson has requested your assistance with a drugs bust at 364 East Auberry Street."

"Yes. I'll be there in five."

Lestrade could tell that the suspect was not happy coming from the shouts that he heard from the street. He sighed as he climbed the steps to the front door of the flat.

"You can't do this!"

"We have reason to believe that you're in possession of an illegal substance," Johnson said in hopes to match the suspect's volume.

"I! AM! CLEAN!" the man yelled as Lestrade made his way to the top-most flat. He pushed open the peeling door to reveal Detective Inspector Johnson facing another tall man with dark curly hair. His silver eyes showed intelligence, but what more prominently showed in them was annoyance. Most importantly, Lestrade recognized them. There, standing in front of him, was the man from the crime scene. The man, wait Sherlock Holmes, looked at him with the equivalent of a pleading look. Even after knowing him for less than a few hours, Lestrade knew that the way he expressed himself was different from the average human.

Lestrade knew perfectly well that Sherlock had been at a closed crime scene, and trespassing on one of those would put you smack dab in jail. However, he had helped him convict the murderer faster than they would have on their own, though they would have figured it out eventually. He did owe Sherlock a small favor, so he didn't mention the trespassing.

"For the _last_ time, I am clean!"

"No he ain't," a new voice called from the steps. A chubby, short man with a balding head appeared.

"And you are?" Lestrade inquired.

"Albert!" Sherlock exclaimed. He stood crossed to the man. "You called the police and told them I was in possession?"

"I'm sick of you coming and going at the oddest times. You play the violin at three in the mornin'. You bring strange things home."

"So," Johnson interrupted, "you called us hoping to evict your client?"

"Pretty much," the landowner shrugged.

"You can just kick him out," Lestrade informed him dumbfounded.

"Seriously?" Albert asked quizzically. "You!" he pointed at Sherlock. "Out!"

Sherlock looked skeptical for a moment before grabbing a briefcase and flying down the stairs. Lestrade following close behind. Sherlock didn't show any sign that he knew Lestrade was following him until they were three blocks down.

"I assume there is a reason to why you are following me," he stopped and turned around.

"Yeah," Lestrade replied, "Back at the crime scene-"

"Yes, I know. I am amazing," he said in fake admiration. He kept walking either he was finished with me or expected Lestrade to keep up.

"But how did you know that's how it happened?" Sherlock kept walking. "Oi! I'm talking to you!" Sherlock stopped abruptly and strode to Lestrade.

"He was high on illegal substances. The way he was hallucinating, the stain on the ceiling probably looked like a unicorn riding steamboat. Or a cat dancing to the macarena. Either way, he wasn't focused on much else. Which means he couldn't hear his brother sneaking up behind him. There was a picture on the desk with what looked like the victim and a girlfriend. However, that was the only picture of her. I looked closer and saw a slight discrepancy in the man's nose. I therefore deduced that they were twins. Now, in the background of the picture was a college. A very expensive and high end college.

"The flat was, let's be blunt with it, awful. A poor man's flat if you will. The family doesn't have a large income. That means the victim's twin was at college on a scholarship. There was a coffee cup on the table. Mostly full, but there was a stain on the victim's shirt. His brother needed money to continue to go to school, they cancelled his scholarship probably due to his drug addiction. He went to his brother hoping he would loan him enough money. Going back to the state of his living quarters, the victim couldn't give him the money. Or maybe he just didn't want to because of that time his ex-girlfriend cheated on him with his brother-"

"Cheating girlfriend? How did you get that?"

"Not important," Sherlock waved him off. "When the brother found out that he wasn't getting the money out of his twin. He decided to kill him and steal the money. You noticed the state of the room, yes? The brother was smart. He told his brother to sit and drink his coffee while he cleaned the floor. That way it would mask the smell of the coffee which loaded with a healthy amount of meth. You know the rest. Brother smacked him over the head," and with that, Sherlock put his hands in his pockets and started walking off.

"Oi!" Lestrade called out.

"What do you want now?" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Seeing as you're kicked out of your own flat, I was just wondering if you, uh..." Lestrade scratched the back of his head, "if you need a place to stay?"

"I am not sleeping at your house."

Lestrade went red as a stoplight. "That's not what I meant! The police have a safe house not far from here that we never use. If you want to, you could stay there until you find other living arrangements."

Sherlock stood there for a moment before replying, "That would be lovely."

"125 North Harrow Street."

Sherlock started to walk away before Lestrade called, "Do you, by chance, want to um... work with the police?"

"No," he called back.

"Tomorrow morning then?"

"No."

Tomorrow morning it was.


End file.
